


What could have been

by hey_itsjoanna (jth30)



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOSF SPOILERS, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jth30/pseuds/hey_itsjoanna
Summary: !!!! ACOSF SPOILER !!!!DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT UNLESS YOU'RE CAUGHT UP WITH ACOSF & THE AZRIEL CHAPTER.What if Rhys hadn't stopped Azriel, what if he let things play out between him and Elain? What if he let his friend have that one moment of happiness before the consequences caught up with them?An alternate ending to Azriel's special chapter from ACOSF to soothe my Elriel heart.
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel
Comments: 41
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is an alternate continuation of the first two and a half pages of Azriel's chapter in ACOSF - I added a bit of the passage so you know exactly where it goes.

_Azriel’s hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain’s mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut._

_Offer and permission._

_He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers._

Azriel.

_Rhys’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet mouth._

Azriel.

But Azriel shut it out. Rhysand’s voice was laced with command, but he let it fade into a whisper. He’d taken years to perfect how to silence the roaring in his head, the myriads of whispers the wind and shadows carried to him. Yet he’d never done it to Rhys, not until now. Not on the one night when emboldened by what he so very clearly understood was jealousy, maybe male pride, he had decided to claim what was for once being offered to _him_.

Elain closed the distance between them, desire now a thick mist around her, unmistakeable and true, tangible in the air. So he used his grip on her neck to press her against him. A small sound of surprise escaped her lips, her lashes fluttered but her eyes remained shut.

_Azriel. My office. Now._

Elain parted her lips a fraction more, but he knew, he marked her every movement. He had for months. He didn’t know when it started but it was instinct to him now. Rhysand’s silken voice nothing but a rustle of wind in his ears. He couldn’t stop himself any more from keeping any semblance of decency as he lowered his head, drinking in her scent of jasmine and honey, letting his breath, hot with want drift on her lips.

And then he grazed her mouth with his, softly, like a caress, as if he had all the time in the world, as if Rhys wasn’t in his mind, wasn’t likely gearing up to burst through the room and drag him away before he signed his death sentence. He’d wasted away his life already, but this one thing he’d do for himself. The idea of his brother walking in on them any moment made the blood pound through his veins, sending it straight to his aching cock.

He slanted his lips against hers, and swept her mouth with his tongue – Mother save him, she tasted ten times sweeter than he’d have ever imagined. Rhysand still swirled in his mind in the distance, and called for him to pull back. But Azriel wouldn’t, couldn’t, not when Elain put her arms around his neck and tangled her hands in his hair practically hauling him on top of her as she backed them into a wall.

 _Are you staying to watch?_ He growled at Rhys inside his head. _Because I’m doing this, no matter what you think is right._

Elain panted as he broke the kiss only so he could look at her, her beautiful face flushed, her full lips swollen because he’d sucked and nipped at them. He wanted to commit her to his immortal memory, the pure lust in her usually clear brown eyes. Her lashes were heavy, the blush on her cheeks somehow womanly, seductive.

Rhys only retreated from his mind as he lifted Elain’s knee pinning it with one scarred hand against his hip and pressed against her core, feeling her pulse with need through the thin fabric of her nightgown and robe.

Elain gasped at the contact, her eyes snapping to his – wide so wide, like a fawn caught on a hunter’s snare. He didn’t have to search her face to ask himself if she really wanted this to go further, not as she moved her hands down his neck and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore as they had when she’d handed him his present, lust fuelled her every move now and she was fire, Elain was a blaze that threatened to consume him whole.

And he carelessly fanned that fire, as he slipped his hand between them, taking hold of the sash of her robe. Elain paused as his fingers grazed her abdomen through the clothes and looked down at his hand and it took everything in him not to pull it away. But she’d never recoiled or shown pity at his scars, and so he kept still, waiting for her to come to her senses, to pull him away and go seek out her mate to finish off the job. But Elain tore a hand away from his chest and rested it atop his own, and then gently she tugged and the sash was loosened, a thin sliver of skin revealed as her gown cut low on her cleavage.

As if he’d been a parched man who’d found a cold spring, Azriel almost wept at the sight of the pale, unmarred skin and he traced his fingers along it, pushing back the robe to uncover more and more of her. He barely felt the soft whisper of the silk under all the scars, but he felt the goosebumps on her skin, each raised pore an invitation for him to claim more. He tore his eyes from his present that was now resting mere inches away from the small peaks of her breast, tore his mind from what they’d look like, feel like under his skin and mouth.

She’d stopped touching him, her hands now slack on her sides, and her eyes not leaving his face. Azriel who had been almost feral with need, saw what raced behind those brown orbs that beheld him with what he knew was now gentle apprehension – it confirmed to him what he’d suspected all along, what he didn’t allow himself to confirm by ever having his shadows watch her. She’d likely been with a man before, _Graysen,_ but hadn’t ever sought out another male in the two years since she’d been in Prythian. And it was nerves getting the better of her as the first surge of adrenaline wore out in her blood.

So he smiled at her, letting some warmth reach his eyes. He had never put feeling into this act, into sex; it had been so easy to just let himself get lost in the sensation. As his lips tugged upwards, a breath escaped hers and he took her hand again, pushing his shirt aside where she’d undone the buttons nearly all the way down. He placed it over his heart, over the swirling inks across his skin, wanting her to feel that he was as nervous, as she was, that he didn’t know the first thing about showing someone love, not in this way anyways. But for her he would try.

Elain splayed her fingers, and pushed her palm against his chest and kept it there, her other one fisted on the fabric of his shirt. She pulled him down and pressed her lips to his, not tender this time, but demanding, branding him. He let her brush her tongue against his, slow and searching as she still held on to his clothes. But Azriel couldn’t take it anymore, he wanted to feel more of her, see more of her, _see_ when he hadn’t allowed himself to do that, not when in the darkest hours of the night the shadows wanted to whisper of her body. He’d shut them out, every time. It had been enough that his mind raced wild, but if he’d known, he didn’t know what he would do then.

But here she was, asking him to look at her and touch her and _have_ her, and Azriel pushed the robe off her shoulders and she let go of him for a moment letting the sleeves fall down her arms, and the garment swished to the floor. He barely heard it rustle as she moaned in his mouth at the cold breeze that grazed her bare shoulders. The leg he had pinned against his thigh made to wrap around his waist to pull him closer, but Azriel palmed her thigh and she stilled. His other hand cupped her face and she leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me,” Azriel commanded gently. This voice, where he tried to curb his edge, reel back the cold, it was only for her. “Elain, look at me.”

She raised her eyes again.

His flicked to the stairs that let upstairs, and then he asked. “Are you sure you want this?”

She knew what he’d left unspoken. _Lucien._

She didn’t nod, she didn’t shake her head – she only reached for his pants where his cock was straining against the fabric, and undid the buttons. He sprung free and she took him in her hands. With no small amount of pride, he saw her eyes widen at the sight of him glistening and throbbing, all for her. She run her hand over him a couple of times, her thumb brushing his leaking tip and his hips bucked, he had to brace himself on the wall. He knew it’d be a feat to jam himself into her on a first try, he didn’t want to hurt her, not when she hadn’t... done this in so long.

Her sex dripped for him, he could practically see it gleaming through her nightgown and Az knew he had to at least try because if she kept pumping him, even gently as she was he would soon spill himself all over the both of them. He took her hands off his length, and wrapped them around his neck – his only warning about changing the pace. Then he gripped her thighs and lifted her up, she instinctively looped her legs around his back. Pinned between his body and the wall, Azriel lifted the hem of her dress and snaked a scarred hand between her legs. His cock throbbed harder as he realized she wasn’t wearing undergarments. As soon as he made contact with her, her grip around his neck tightened and her mouth parted in a silent gasp. He leaned down and sunk his teeth gently into her lower lip as he teased her entrance letting the sleekness coat his fingers.

She rolled her hips against him, seeking out the friction and as he let his mouth trail lower to her neck, kissing and grazing her soft skin he plunged a finger inside her.

As he entered her, she pulled his hair. Instinct? Reflex? He didn’t know, didn’t care, as it made his heartbeat roar in his ears. He let a second digit join the first; thrusting them in and out of her, as a symphony of sounds sweeter than any melody his shadows ever made escaped her mouth. She ground against his hand, riding him, angling herself in the ways she knew would make her feel good and Azriel just watched her, breathless. Her beautiful face, bunched with pleasure, her mouth parted for minutes now in a permanent O of pleasure. And then just as she was about to tip over the edge he slipped his fingers out of her.

Lost, she looked around to see if they’d been caught but then she found his face, and as she looked her in the eyes, Azriel lifted those two hands soaked with her essence and brought them to her lips. She closed her mouth around them, sucking them clean and swirling her hot tongue over them. As she feasted on her own taste, he positioned himself against her entrance and slowly inched himself in. She was tight, and she hissed with pain as her body stretched around him. When he pushed himself deeper she sunk her teeth on his fingers, using them like a bit or else she’d cry out. Azriel paused, a question in his eyes of whether he should keep going. She only nodded and he nudged himself deeper, filling her. When he sheathed himself in her and her teeth were no longer digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood he pulled them out of her mouth and she gasped, as if she’d forgotten they were there. He licked them clean of whatever morsels of her juice she’d left on them, surprised to find her taste mixed with his blood, _so she did cut him with her teeth._ And somehow that sent him into a frenzy, he nearly started pounding into her, but told himself that this had to be slow, intimate.

He adjusted his grip on her thighs and moved her up and down his shaft, once and slowly. Her head tipped back first and then forward into his neck, her soft curls tickling his skin. He repeated the movement, and her breath was hot on his skin. He didn’t pause so long this time before he did it again. She lowered her hands from his neck to his collar, bracing herself. Elain didn’t talk much, but with him she didn’t have to. _Finish me off,_ she said as her fists closed around the cotton black shirt. And so he did, setting a pace that was gentle, their panting breaths fusing together as their bodies moved.

Elain lost herself first, her muscles clamping around him as she came, moaning through clenched teeth to keep from echoing down the house. Not that it would matter when Lucien sensed it, smelled it, woke up to the release that barrelled through her and left her shaking in his arms. Azriel thrust himself deep inside her two more times before he followed her over the edge, sagging against the wall as he gently lowered her to the ground.

Her legs trembling she sunk to the floor, her back still against the wall as she idly played with the necklace on her neck. He followed her, sitting beside her, pulling her to his chest. _Just for a moment,_ he told himself. He’d allow himself to hold her for a moment before he pulled away, wore the mask of cool indifference and sit by the fire waiting for Lucien Vanserra to find him to challenge him to the Blood Duel. But even that one moment of blissful peace he wasn’t to have, as Lucien descended the stairs. He was shirtless as if he’d only dragged himself out of bed and run to them, to _her._ His russet eye flashed with pain as he took in their image. Azriel could only imagine what it must look like, Elain’s discarded robe, her nightgown hastily falling not even midway to her thighs. His own shirt was half-open, half-dragged off his shoulder, his cock barely back in his still open pants.

Elain was dead-still at his side – he wondered if she were even breathing. Azriel stood up, putting himself in front of her as he squared off his shoulders, staring down Lucien as he waited for the male to utter the words that would mean he’d have an impossible choice to make. Take a life and dishonor his court, or lay down his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments - I decided to continue this story because I know how hard it’s going to be with lack of information for a long, long while and also of course it wouldn’t leave me alone. I know it completely disregards that the Azriel chapter happens sort of in the middle of ACOSF and I’m involving the rest of the characters now, but for the sake of it let’s just see where this goes and let’s assume that it happened the Solstice a year after the end of the book – so Nyx is born, Nessian are happily mated, and the rest of the events of ACOSF unfolded the same way.

Lucien was asleep when he felt it, a tingle of pleasure building up to release, as if he’d been caught in a wet dream. Only he’d been out like a log the moment he hit the mattress, Rhysand’s premium liquors had nothing on the piss-ales that him and Jurian got their hands on in the Mortal Lands. He’d missed good fae wine more than he cared to admit. But the strange sensation had pulled him right out of that stupor, and as he came to his senses, quickly sobering up, he realized this wasn’t some dream; this was the other side of that gold thread that he’d tried to ignore on a good day. But this was no good day, he’d spent all evening trying to get some sort of reaction out of Elain – good or bad, but all he got was that carefully constructed wall of politeness he couldn’t quite breach.

But now following the thread, he was awash with emotion, all of it tinged with that golden light that he’d always associated with her, _his mate_. Elain was happy, so happy it nearly made him weep. He’d never felt that from her before. And then just like that her climax crashed through him too. Before the last throes of her orgasm echoed down to a quiet lull in his head, he was already leaping out of bed pulling on his pants and nearly flying down the stairs to where he could sense her physical presence.

Lucien’s mouth went slack as agony flashed through his russet eye, consumed every atom of his body. His legs barely held him, his knees nearly giving way, he wanted to bellow out at the pain that coursed through him. The sight horrified him down to his bones – Elain sated, her eyes half closed and her skin flushed where Azriel had touched her, run his hands over her. His musky scent mixed with her sweet one made his stomach turn.

Azriel, who was now standing in front of Elain, while the Siphons that half-covered his deformed hands flashed bright sapphire. As if Lucien would ever do anything to hurt her. No, Lucien wouldn’t hurt Elain, not even to save himself if it ever came to that. But Azriel he could hurt, sure he was half-dressed and wore no shoes, but it was rare that the Shadowsinger wasn’t wearing all seven Siphons, that he wasn’t armed. And so he decided he’d try his hand then and there was nothing and no one that would stop him. He wouldn’t use his fire, not when it could harm her, so he just run down the last flight and tackled Azriel to the ground.

The Illyrian was much bigger than him, but the pure adrenaline that fuelled his every move seemed to be enough to knock him off his feet, send them both crashing through the foyer table. He even landed a punch before Azriel rolled them around so he straddled his thighs, pinning him down. Lucien struggled against the male’s grip, but Azriel was a solid, unwavering mass of muscle. Lucien was about to utter the words, to challenge Azriel fair and square, away from Elain, from the threat of having her caught in the crossfire, when Azriel was suddenly being hauled off him, two sets of hands prying him away.

Lucien pulled back to see Rhysand and Cassian still restraining Azriel who was fighting their grip. Then like a magnet, Elain caught his eye – her sisters were pulling her to her feet. Elain swayed and Lucien thought she might faint, but Feyre put her arm around her waist and she stayed upright. Nesta draped a robe on her shoulders and stepped back.

Lucien rose too, and turned back to face the three males – Cassian had a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his own red Siphons flashing, his power awake in case Azriel stepped out of line again. But Azriel wasn’t even paying attention; his eyes were fixed on Elain, who was also looking back at him. Lucien vaguely registered Rhysand walking towards him, his hands up in a pacifying gesture.

“Lucien… I think we should all talk.”

*

When Cassian and Rhys pulled him away from Lucien, Azriel was consumed by that white-hot rage that he almost exclusively reserved for members of the Vanserra family. Azriel’s own kin had been on the receiving end of it centuries ago, but none survived to tell the tale. Well, except his mother, but he would never hurt her.

Rhysand was already talking, wearing that mask of arrogant calm, he wasn’t just trying to appease Lucien, but to dominate him into submission, to deter him from challenging him to a Blood Duel. As if he cared – Azriel wanted the challenge; he’d relish it, so that he’d once and for all put an end to this game of charades. Elain had finally let her walls down, had shown him she wanted him, had _chosen_ him.

When Elain had been overcome with grief after she’d been Made, Azriel was still healing, but through the pain and the exercising and the rebuilding of muscle and tissue, he remembered Elain sat by the window, staring outside with a longing that ripped his cold, unfeeling heart in two. He also remembered Nesta standing guard beside her, and it was the only reason Azriel managed to ever focus on himself, on healing – because he knew that Nesta would never let anything else happen to Elain. And so she’d always be safe.

Once Nesta fell apart, the pressure of her own mating bond with Cassian drowning her, the guilt of her father’s death ripping her apart, Elain moved away from that unfaltering grip and into a life she’d made for herself. Feyre had Rhys, she had her baby, her students; and Nesta finally found her way to Cassian. All the while Elain grew into her own person, but no one seemed to realize that more than Azriel had.

Lucien was shaking, his bare chest heaving with rage. “He… he _took_ my mate.”

“She’s not a thing to be _taken,”_ Nesta said and Cassian tensed beside him.

“Drop it, Nesta.” Cassian barked – wise of his brother to want to shield his mate from a jilted mated male on a rampage. No matter that Nesta could likely have at least twelve different ways to kill Lucien if he took one step toward where the sisters were standing.

“How about we all sit down and _talk,”_ Rhys pleaded again.

That’s what his brother had been reduced to, for his sake. The most feared High Lord in the history of their lands, _pleading._ Azriel felt bile rise to his throat; he was pathetic for going along with this, for giving in to his feelings, for risking everything. But there was no way back now, he’d made his decision, he too _chose_ Elain. Those big eyes that now looked at him from across the room, pleading for peace, they’d been his undoing ever since he allowed them to seep into his subconscious, take over his every thought.

Lucien squared his shoulders; he was barely dressed, yet somehow there was dignity to his pain as he spoke the words. “I have to do this, Rhysand. It’s about my honor as a male… I have nothing left.”

Feyre, who had of course been Lucien’s friend, dropped her head as a quiet sob made her shoulders heave. And Azriel felt infinitely worse in that instant, he was causing his High Lady, his _friend_ pain.

Azriel couldn’t see Rhys’s face from where he stood, but he felt him tense, acknowledging whatever grief Feyre felt in that moment. But ever the diplomat, he continued, “Elain doesn’t quite know our ways, Lucien. You know that. She didn’t know she’d have to reject the bond before... pursuing _things_ with Azriel.”

*

Elain clenched her fists, anger rising in her throat, gripping her chest like a vice. As if sensing it, Nesta put her hand over Elain’s, clasping their fingers together, urging her to stay silent. Elain kept looking at Azriel through it all, calling out for him, screaming in her head. Because she knew behind those cold eyes a storm would be raging – Azriel who’d always deemed himself unworthy, and lesser than, he’d blame himself. She wished things were different, that they’d ever found the courage to talk first, before giving themselves over to passion. She wished she had a chance to tell him how he pulled her out of the misery that threatened to swallow her whole, how he’d been a beacon in the dark.

Rhysand spoke as if she were a child that dipped into the cookie jar, she’d fucked a man, _a male,_ his brother godsdammit in the middle of his foyer, and Rhys still treated her like a child. She supposed to him she were. But the moment she’d caught Azriel’s scent before she’d even slipped into the room, she knew she was damned. She’d made up her mind and the rest of the world could burn to cinders and she wouldn’t care if it were to have even that one night with him. They’d denied that of themselves for so long that she thought she’d combust when he touched her, when their lips met.

But she didn’t speak; she bit her tongue nearly hard enough to draw blood and counted backwards the way she’d always done when her parents fought, when her mother treated her the way Rhys was now, when Nesta and Feyre ripped into each other on those cold, dark days of their miserable lives in the cottage at the edge of the woods.

A part of her recognized how cruel she was to do this to Lucien, now that she saw the betrayal written in his sharp features – she could nearly hear his heart break. She’d seen the hope in his eyes for years and tried her best to stifle it, but she’d known it wasn’t enough, when he’d kept returning, kept trying for reasons that maybe she didn’t actually quite understand.

The bond had always been a mystery to her, Rhysand was maybe right about that. She wasn’t raised in Prythian, and while Nuala and Cerridwen were happy to answer any questions she may have had, she hadn’t asked quite enough. She knew that they were her friends, but that ultimately they answered to Azriel and she never felt it was proper for him to know she was _questioning_ the order of things. Only of course he did know, he’d known for a long time, she’d seen the signs in every lingering touch, every glance across the dinner table, or a crowded room. She’d been wrong not to trust him, and now the weight of it all came crashing down on her.

Lucien stepped toward her, and she felt Nesta at her side shift on her feet, ready to pounce on him. But a small melancholy smile tugged on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Is that what you want, Elain? Do you wish to be free?”

She met his gaze, and nodded. Just once. “I’m sorry.”

Tears welled in his russet eye, a pain even greater than before as he tipped his head. “I’m sorry, too. I must do this.”

Elain didn’t quite understand, what it was that Lucien _had to_ do, once again she was in the dark. But as Azriel stepped around Rhys, his wings tucked tight on his back, the look of steely determination on his face, a sharp contrast to Lucien’s devastation, dread nestled on the pit of her stomach.

“Say the words, Lucien,” Azriel said. His voice wasn’t his voice, this wasn’t the male she knew, this was a stranger, the person he turned into when they went into the dreaded Court of Nightmares. This was the mask he wore, what he showed the rest of the world.

“I challenge you to a Duel, Azriel. Until my blood or yours is spilled, until a sacrifice is made.”

Elain felt the blood drain from her face as the meaning of the words hit her, as ink magically swirled and spread over Lucien’s bare, tan skin – the bargain binding them together. Once it settled, Elain made out what looked like a sun and knew Azriel would have a mirror one over his own heart, where only maybe a half hour ago she’d rested her hand. She wondered what the tattoo would look like, how it blended with Azriel’s Illyrian ones, she wondered if she’d ever get to see. But she averted her eyes from Lucien’s chest, and while Azriel’s face called for her, she looked down at her feet. She couldn’t allow herself to cry, or plead. She knew it’d be of no use, that the bargain had been made.


	3. Chapter 3

Lucien felt like an island as he faced this united front, this family that looked at him with horror, with pity, or in Azriel’s case with quiet, simmering rage. He felt as alone as he had when he had to face his own brothers as they held him down, forcing him to watch as they killed his first love, the female he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with – mating bond or not. But now here she was, Elain who’d struggled to meet his eyes, who could barely speak to him.

He didn’t know why he’d expected this to go any different, they never found their groove and every attempt he’d made had sent her retreating further away from him. He’d found her, his mate, on a day that had been marked by blood, that changed the course of history forever. He was but an insignificant footnote in that history, and his happiness never mattered in the grand scheme of things anyways.

Feyre broke the line, walking away from her sisters, twisting away from her mate’s grip as he tried to stop her and she wrapped her arms around Lucien. He buried his face in her neck, and tried not to break down completely as his friend held him tightly, as she cried in his chest. He only stroked her hair and whispered words of apology. The Duel, it was a duty that was drilled in him, embedded into the very fabric of who he was, he wanted to fight it, but the last remnants of his upbringing had kicked in. He didn’t want to take a life – he hadn’t since the war, not that he stood a chance against Azriel, but he didn’t know if he would even try to fight him when the time came.

Rhys pulled Feyre away from Lucien, cupping her head to his chest. Lucien just looked at them, this picture-perfect mated couple, the exact image of what he’d once hoped he would find for himself, the very thing that he now lost forever.

He wondered if Rhysand was inside his mind just then, because pity turned to deeper sorrow in his midnight violet eyes. “You should go, Lucien. Find your second. Send word when you’re ready to meet again.”

 _Tell us when you’re ready to die,_ is what he meant to say Lucien thought. But Rhys was too polite; Feyre had softened him. Lucien knew he could bait them into killing him then and there and be done with it. There was hardly anyone in this world who’d miss him. But he nodded, and whispered _goodbye_ to no one in particular – maybe it was to Feyre, maybe it was to Elain; he didn’t know. And then he winnowed away to the one place he knew he’d always have a home in.

*

As soon as Lucien was gone Azriel made to move, to run to Elain, to drop to his knees and beg her for forgiveness. Because he inadvertently forced her hand, he didn’t want her to ever make this decision because of him. But Rhys’s voice thundered with command in the silent room, and it stopped him cold.

“Azriel, my office. Now.”

And there was no room for arguing in his tone; this wasn’t his friend speaking to him, but his High Lord giving him an order. He dropped his head, and like a dog with his tail between his legs, he followed Rhys down the hallway to his study. Cassian walked beside him, stealing concerned glances every now and again. Azriel really wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but he wasn’t in a position to tell anyone anything right now.

“Close the door, Cassian,” Rhys said as he leaned against his desk.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said. And he meant it, just not in every sense. He wasn’t regretting what happened, and even at the imminent possibility that Rhys would ask him to yield in the Duel, all he could think of was still Elain – her face, her scent, her soft skin. 

“I tried to stop you from doing this. You didn’t want to listen,” Rhys was pained as he faced him, as if this somehow fell on him to prevent.

Cassian’s mouth dropped, “You knew?”

“What was I supposed to do? Go in and drag him out of the room with his cock out? He wanted to do it and so he did.”

“So now what?” Cassian asked.

“He accepted the challenge. There’s nothing we can do.”

Azriel zoned out and let them talk strategy, figure out what should be done. Like a good soldier he’d just follow, play whatever role they’d ask of him.

“I’ll be your second,” Cassian directly addressed him and the fog from his mind cleared.

“I’m not going to flee. No one’s taking my place.”

“It’s a formality, you know you need one. Rhys might not be able to even be there when…” Cassian’s voice broke. But Azriel understood, Rhys as High Lord shouldn’t appear to be involved in this – it would further disturb whatever fragile peace they’d brokered with the rest of the Courts.

“We’ll need to minimize the damage once it becomes known,” Rhys said.

“Who would Lucien tell?” Cassian wondered.

“Jurian or Tamlin would be his second. More likely Tamlin. Jurian fights well, but Tamlin has a High Lord’s powers,” Azriel said matter-of-factly. As if he’d considered it before, because he had.

“Lucien challenged you, he won’t let Tamlin fight you. Even if he did, Tamlin doesn’t stand a chance,” Cassian responded, pacing.

But Azriel wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at Rhys whose mind seemed to be racing though he was standing utterly still. “Lucien is smart. If he wanted to force our hand, he could ask Tamlin to fight on his behalf. You can’t spill a High Lord’s blood, Azriel. It’d be war.”

“No one cares about Tamlin, Rhys. His own people have abandoned him, and we’re practically funding his sentries now. Who’d rise to avenge him?” Cassian wondered.

“It’s the message that it sends,” Rhys said and Azriel, though he didn’t speak, was inclined to agree. It was one thing to kill Lucien. Yes, he was a High Lord’s son, but he could defeat him. Easily. The fallout wouldn’t be quite so catastrophic. But killing Tamlin, a High Lord without an heir would be devastating. For more than just this Court. He knew that.

“So was it worth it?” Cassian asked with a wicked smile and Azriel almost choked.

“ _It?”_

“The sex–”

“I don’t ask you what you do with Nesta,” Azriel said in a clipped tone.

“Well you didn’t have to… I think you could hear it all pretty well...”

“Cassian, could you get your mind out the gutter. Please?” Rhys said, rubbing his temples.

“I just always wondered how Elain ranked up–”

Azriel leaped from his seat and put a hand around Cassian’s neck before he could say anymore. He slammed him into the wall hard enough to make Feyre’s portrait rattle. “Shut up, Cassian,” he snarled.

“Sit. Down. Both of you,” Rhys said and it was clear in his tone that every last trace of his patience was now gone.

Azriel released Cassian immediately, but wished he hadn’t, if only to wipe that smug grin off his face.

*

Her sisters led her up the stairs, almost supporting her full weight as they made their way to her room. They guided her to the bed where they sat her down; and she looked up at them both, though she could barely face them. Feyre’s beautiful features still tinged with sadness, her face blotchy from the tears she’d shed. This was what Elain had run from for two years now – disturbing the peace. It’s why she’d endured Lucien’s visits, even after she’d realized she could never have any feelings for him, some romantic spark that would lead her to want to spend the rest of her life with him. It wasn’t a permanent solution – the not saying anything, but it bought her time to sort through her feelings. Or at least it had, until she acted on those feelings without apparently following fae protocol.

Nesta’s sharp features were drawn, her mouth a thin line – she was of course angry. She was going to plead with her, to explain herself, but Nesta turned her back to her and walked to the window.

“What were you thinking, Elain? Tonight of all nights? When he was under the same roof?”

“Spare me, Nesta,” she found herself saying, wanting to defend herself, to strike back. “You did worse to Cassian. With strangers. For months.”

Nesta’s face went slack with surprise, before her sister summoned her usual cool venom. “Exactly. With people who didn’t matter. If one day Cassian snapped and decided to pummel them, it wouldn’t have made a difference. To me, to him, to this Court. This challenge though, you and I might not know what it means yet, but if Rhysand was smart enough to plead with Lucien then you can imagine one of them will be the sacrifice this bargain demands.”

Elain refrained from asking Nesta when it suddenly became so important to her what consequences _this Court_ would face.

“I want to talk to him,” was all Elain said. She wondered what the three males were discussing. Her heart had stopped when Azriel walked toward her before Rhys had called him away. She sent a prayer to the Mother that Cassian would stick up for Az, that his kind heart would be softer than Nesta’s. Because Elain knew how to weather Nesta’s wrath and judgement; all she worried about was who would shield Azriel from Rhysand’s.

“They’re only trying to come up with a plan,” Feyre whispered soothingly, sitting beside her and taking her hand. “You should rest, they might be a while.”

She knew Rhys had likely filled her in; she was probably catching at least fragments of the conversation that was happening in her mate’s office, and she certainly knew what the words Lucien uttered had meant. Elain was certain that was the very reason why Feyre had cried when she held him.

Elain couldn’t keep her voice from shaking when she asked, “Will one of them have to die?”

Feyre only gave a small nod. It brought tears back in her eyes, but Elain realized her own cheeks were also wet. Nesta sat on her other side and wiped them away.

“It would have happened one way or another,” she said. “You would have never chosen him. Who’s to say if you rejected him the _proper_ way,” she rolled her eyes at the word, “that he would have reacted differently.”

“Lucien… He’s a High Lord’s son… He’s important, almost like a prince isn’t he?” Elain asked. She didn’t want to finish the thought, and Nesta must have known where she was going with it when she cut her off with a scoff.

“They never treated him that way for all the time he’s been slumming it in the Mortal Lands, with the bird-Queen and Jurian.”

Elain only looked to Feyre, _she_ could speak for Rhys, confirm that he wouldn’t be expecting Azriel to lay down his life. But Feyre stayed silent, lost in whatever conversation she was following through Rhysand’s eyes. So Elain spiralled deeper into her guilt and despair that ripped a whole in the middle of her chest.

Her sisters let her cry it out, Nesta sat against the headboard and pulled her head to her lap and stroked her hair until she fell asleep, giving in to the exhaustion. The last thing she remembered before black swallowed her was Feyre settling in beside her, just like they’d done when all they had was each other.

*

“Fine, we’re done here. Go see her. We’ll work out the rest over time.” Rhys hadn’t dismissed him like that in a long time, but Azriel supposed he deserved it. He made to move when Rhys put a hand on his arm. “But Az, you don’t touch her again. Not until this whole thing’s resolved.”

He knew what Rhys meant, he had figured as much too. They couldn’t know how it would reach Lucien down the bond, how it would make him react. It would be agony but of course he could do it.

Cassian huffed a laugh, “Sucks to be you, brother.”

 _When did Cassian get even cockier?_ his shadows fussed. Well, when Nesta finally officially agreed to put up with him, he wanted to answer back but said nothing. Instead he left the room, stalking up the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. With every step, the shadows whispered that she was safe, that she was well, but as soon as he got to Elain’s door he faltered. He could hear the three sisters all still inside, their breaths even, probably asleep. He knocked softly but when of course no one replied, he allowed himself to crack the door open and peek inside. He could have sent a shadow, but he wanted to see her with his own eyes.

Elain, as beautiful and fair as a newborn fawn was sleeping in the middle of her four-poster bed. Nesta and Feyre on either side of her, their bodies angled towards her, bracketing her protectively. Before he knew it he was pushing the door wide open, entering the room, making his way through the darkness in a way that only he knew how. He walked toward the moonlight coming in from the window, its curtains were drawn and he closed them. He leaned and retrieved a blanket that was neatly folded on an armchair and draped it over all three sleeping Archerons.

A stray shadow broke from Azriel’s control then, creeping closer and closer to Elain’s sleeping face. It floated towards her ear, whispering a song Azriel couldn’t quite make out. Tugging it back, he allowed himself one last look at her before he shut the door behind him and went to find his brothers who were drinking in the living room. Cauldron knew, he needed a stiff drink.


	4. Chapter 4

Azriel’s eyes barely closed for a few moments when his racing mind forced them open again; he knew it was of no use thinking he’d dull his senses with the liquor. Meanwhile his brothers were splayed out, taking up a couch each. Cassian on his stomach with his wings drooping awkwardly to the floor, and Rhys on his back, one hand draped over his face to block out the faelights. Azriel sent a thought to the river house and the lights dimmed as he walked past his brothers and out to the garden.

He relished the biting cold against his face, as he took in the smell of lavenders, the sight of the pretty violet blooms. Being surrounded by Elain’s labor of love, the garden she’d poured hours of devotion into, it never seized to fill him with awe. Tonight he could appreciate the beauty of it, stand here uninterrupted, and marvel at this part of her that made life grow. The freedom of not having to sneak out like a thief in the dead of the night and fly to his prison that was the House of Wind was exhilarating. He’d come to loathe that House despite all the kindness it had shown him, especially since Nesta had become its mistress. It was a cage that kept him apart from her, but today Elain offered a hand, she’d built a bridge to him and the walls he’d put up were slowly crumbling.

He sat down in the grass in front of the house, with the shadows spooling around him whispering soothing words. He watched the sky over Velaris change from the darkest of blacks to the first pink hues of dawn. Once it turned pale blue, a crisp winter morning, he got up again and went back inside.

Rhys and Cassian weren’t in the living room anymore; they’d probably gone to find their mates. His own feet took him to the kitchen where Elain stood with Nuala and Cerridwen on either side of her, her elbows dusted with flour as she kneaded the dough. The smell of baked bread already filled the room, and yet hers rose above it – _theirs_ rose above it. He’d marked her last night, marked her as _his_ for everyone to know, and male satisfaction swelled in his chest at the thought. He leaned against the doorframe wanting to observe her, but as if his thoughts were a magnet, she looked up through the strands of curls that framed her lovely face.

Azriel saw how the twins swiftly busied themselves in the farthest corner of the room, their shadows passing messages between them. Elain was walking toward him, her movements so graceful she almost seemed to float. Her beautiful face was tentative and closed off for him to read, his heart skipped a beat and shadows coiled all around him, their whispers a gentle reminder that she had taken a step towards him already – rejecting Lucien. Yet he knew how unworthy of her he was, her pure heart against his endless darkness. He only waited for her to see it too.

He realized he was having a hard time meeting her eyes, but he forced himself to. He struggled to find the right words, but Elain simply turned to the twins, telling them that she’d be back to help them and looked to him expectantly as if telling him to lead the way. So he did.

The moment they stepped out on the lawn he realized that she was only wearing a thin cardigan over her dress. She clenched her teeth determined not to shiver, but he cursed himself. His instincts were urging him to wrap his arms around her and keep the cold away, but he didn’t dare. Not when he didn’t know what was in her mind, if she’d even want him to.

“I’m sorry,” Elain said and Azriel nearly broke apart.

“Don’t apologize. Never apologize. It’s I who should…” He clenched his jaw, struggling again with his words. “I want you to be free, Elain.”

“Free to _choose,”_ she whispered softly and his breath caught. His hands were around her in a heartbeat as he pulled her head to his chest, her soft curls grazing his chin like a gentle caress. “I don’t deserve the bloodshed,” she said into his leathers and the sound was but a rustle in the wind. But he, who heard the song of shadows, didn’t miss one word of it.

He pulled back and cupped her face with both scarred hands, it was blasphemous to have the marred flesh so near her angelic face, but he wanted her to see the truth in his eyes when he spoke the words. “I would kill a thousand men to see you happy.”

Her brown eyes that called to him like the music of shadows welled with tears. He despised himself for it, the pain in this perfect face. “Lucien doesn’t deserve to die,” she managed.

“I could spare him,” he said without hesitation. For her he would… He’d rip his own heart out of his chest and offer it to her.

She shook her head, lowering her eyes. “I couldn’t lose you.”

Nothing mattered then, not shedding the blood of an innocent, not adding another death to his long tally, not when her small hands rested atop his own, her thumbs running soothingly up and down the mangled skin. He tipped her head back and this time it wasn’t gentle when their lips met, it was filled with urgency, with the pain of denying themselves for this long. He poured it all into it and they were almost trying to crawl into each other’s skin. By the time they pulled apart, foreheads still touching, their chests heaved as they reached for a breath.

And Elain smiled, despite the bleakness of it all she did. And the world lit up with it. Azriel couldn’t help but smile with her, because they had today and he could now stand in the garden that faced the street and kiss her.

“The necklace you gave me, I took it off last night. I’ll take it off every night. And I want you to be the one to put it on my neck every morning.”

The world faded away and he heard nothing, not the song of the shadows, not the gulls that cried down at the harbor, not the chatter on the streets. Her voice was the one singular thing that filled his mind. He didn’t want to waste another moment, walk through the house, and up the stairs. He tucked her closer and let the shadows fold in on the world. Once they cleared away again, they were standing in her room, the scent of hers lingering in the air; thick as mist on everything she’d touched.

She walked to her dressing table and picked up the gold chain. He held out his hand for her and she let it drop in his outstretched palm. She brushed away her hair and there it was, her long neck bared to him once more, only now in the bright morning light he could see the gooseflesh on her creamy skin where his fingers ghosted over as he clasped the necklace. And then slowly, reverently he leaned down and placed a kiss on the spot where her neck met her shoulder, just above her collarbone. The hand that had swept her hair to one side shook a little, and he heard the breath that hissed past her clenched teeth.

And though being in this room alone with her, with her scent beckoning to him, the permission from earlier, the confirmation that she’d chosen him, urging him to lay her on that bed and explore every inch of her. He knew that downstairs everyone else had taken their place for breakfast and Rhys’s words echoed in his mind _“you don’t touch her”._ He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“We should go back down,” he forced himself to say. She nodded reluctantly and followed him out of the room.

Everyone was seated around the table, having their breakfast already, Nyx fussing in Feyre’s arms as she tried to coax him into eating a mushed banana. The toddler kept reaching for the blueberries on the plate in front of him, but Feyre refused to give into his innate charm. At their side, Rhys beamed with pride, though his amethyst eyes seemed to darken as he saw them enter the room. Azriel couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in his chest that he was causing Rhys trouble. He dropped his head as he pulled the empty chair beside Nesta for Elain and took the one beside hers, the farthest away from everyone. He secretly thanked his lucky stars that Amren and Varian hadn’t popped in to eat with them, because facing her wrath as well as Rhys’s would have been enough to deter him from eating for the rest of the day, not just skipping breakfast.

Tearing his attention from his mate and son, Rhys cleared his throat. “Elain… If you’d like to now stay with Azriel, you can join him up at the House of Wind, your bedroom there is still kept the same–”

“I won’t be using it,” Elain said with a tone that had Azriel break his mask of cool indifference, turning to look at her. It was a mixture of nonchalant and just the right amount of aggressive, a hair before Rhys had any reason to bare his teeth. Elain seemed to know how to navigate that line with expert precision.

His brother’s brows rose almost imperceptibly though he learned to notice such tells in his face, but nevertheless Rhys continued on. “It’s the safest for you both with all the wards on the mountain to just remain there as much as possible for the time being.”

Elain’s face paled at the words and he fought the urge to take her hand, but Rhys’s face softened. “We don’t expect an attack. We just think it’s better to take all precautions.”

“I’ll play chaperone now,” Cassian cut in as he took a massive bite of an entire loaf of bread he’d claimed for himself. “And you step one toe out of line Azriel and I’ll have to enforce the law,” he finished with a smirk. Azriel knew Cassian didn’t truly relish in his misery, that his brother was only playing jester because this was his role in this little family of theirs. Cassian always took it upon himself to lighten the mood; he’d always taken it upon himself to put people at ease.

Azriel could only think about how the last time Elain stayed at the House was a bleak time for her, and wondered what memories it would stir. But she remained quiet by his side, taking small bites off her toast her other hand playing idly with the dainty necklace.

Granted, the House was a different place now, Nesta and Cassian and himself held classes for the priestesses there on the daily. The lessons had only been halted for a few days around the holidays and would resume after the weekend. And from a place of hope, a place that wanted to see Elain’s body clad formfitting in Illyrian leathers, he wondered if she’d ever consider joining his class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a tiny bit from the Azriel chapter, but that line "It's I who should" - the pain behind it will forever haunt me.  
> Thank you so much for the warm reception so far - I'll keep going, and I have a lot of the story mapped out now so I'll do my best to update at least twice a week, which sounds like a realistic goal (for now).  
> Always thankful for all the feedback and can't wait to go on this journey with everyone. :)


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh, I haven’t… I haven’t flown in a long time,” Elain said, thinking about the trip up to the House of Wind.

Moments ago, Nesta had all but jumped into Cassian’s arms before he took to the skies, and Elain knew her sister had finally learned to enjoy flying. Elain herself never minded it. She remembered that day clearly, even through the fog that divided her human life and whatever it was that she’d become now. When she saw the wings on the Illyrians, when she realized they could take off, and see the world. It was envy she had tried to mask with her curiosity when she’d first wanted to know more about them, envy because she’d never been outside of her village, because the pebble they’d been born on was a prison for her hopes and dreams.

She had missed flying, but didn’t think it proper to ask either of her sisters’ mates to take her on a trip over Velaris, not even a short one. Cassian would surely be happy to oblige her, but it wasn’t his arms that she imagined wrapped securely around her, and so she’d rather be left with the memories of Azriel’s unwavering grip on her that last time they’d flown together.

“We can winnow as close to the House as possible and then only fly down,” Azriel offered, thinking it’d put her at ease.

“I – I missed it, actually,” she admitted and instantly felt her cheeks flush.

“Oh,” was all Azriel said. Surprise flashed across his perfect face, the shadows seeming to pause around him. But he didn’t hesitate as he picked her up, cradling her to his chest the way he always had when she’d flown in his arms. It felt like coming home, and when with a flap of his wings they were off the ground, the familiar shield of his magic allowing only a gentle breeze and barely any of the winter chill to seep through, she felt so alive.

Her eyes drunk in the views of the city from above, the rooftops, the colorful crowds, the frozen waters of the Sidra. It was even more beautiful than she remembered. She noticed how Azriel flew in circles, how while she looked at the city, he looked at her. But she was too happy to mind or make some clever comment, she truly had forgotten how freeing, how empowering it felt to soar above the world like that, enveloped in his strong arms. She didn’t want this to end, and he seemed to know because he took his time before he asked, “Ready?”

She gave him a small nod and he angled his body so his wings caught the right wind that took them up to the House. He set her down on the familiar veranda and as he stepped away she instantly missed his touch. She’d never get enough of him she realized, it was as if now that the door was open she’d never find a way to close it again.

They hurried inside, away from the biting cold. The silence felt loaded, with what exactly she couldn’t say. But Azriel who was usually the picture of perfect calm somehow seemed restless. “I know you said you won’t be using your old room, but you don’t have to stay at mine.” He shook his head, a strand of jet-black hair falling over his brow. “Cassian explained some things, about the bond, and how it works and we think… _I_ think it’s better that we try and keep some distance.”

Elain tried to glean what it was that she wasn’t seeing between the lines. “You don’t… want me in your room?”

Azriel raked a hand over his face, searching for the right way to say something no doubt. Elain waited patiently, as he struggled with the words. “Cassian confirmed that Lucien would feel it, if you were to be… pleasured by a male again. Duller now most likely because you’ve rejected the bond, but Rhys has asked that we don’t risk things further.”

“He felt it then, when Nesta…”

“He did.” Azriel’s grief betrayed what Elain had only caught fractions of from the time when Nesta self-medicated with alcohol and sex. She knew it had been difficult for Cassian to witness her sister spiral, but knowing this, it now seemed downright cruel what it would mean for Lucien.

“I can’t ever be someone else’s then… He’d always know. It never meant anything that I rejected him.”

“Time would mend this, but if he wants to go ahead with the Duel, if you want me to walk away from it… That means he won’t…”

“Be alive to feel it after that,” she finished the thought.

Azriel didn’t reply, but she saw the truth of it in his eyes.

“Nesta and Cassian sleep in her room now,” he tried to make his tone brighter, for her sake she realized. “And with yours being right next to it, I think it’s probably wiser that you sleep somewhere else tonight.”

“I still want to stay with you. If that’s… not a problem for you.”

Azriel’s relief, the joy that swept him, the shadows were still there, but had brightened. “It would _never_ be a problem for me, Elain.”

She smiled at him, as if the thought of them sharing a bed, even if it was just for sleeping didn’t make her heart want to flutter right out of her chest, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. But when he reached for her hand, his fingers curling around hers, her breath hitched. Their eyes met and something charged, went through her, the space going taut with some energy she couldn’t quite understand.

She was trying to make sense of it, what passed between them, how it flowed from her body to his, or the other way around, she didn’t quite know, when a set of heavy boots creaked on the floorboards of the ancient House. Azriel cursed under his breath and let go of her hand. Devastated at the sudden loss of contact, Elain frowned and turned to face the source of the sound though she already knew who would be walking through the door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something,” Cassian said with a smirk that said he precisely hoped he did. Elain had a feeling this was punishment, for something Elain likely would never want to hear details of.

“Can’t you go pester my sister, Cassian?” she said, but she failed to keep the laughter from her voice.

Cassian in turn smiled wider. “What, and miss my brother make eyes at you? Not a snowball’s chance in hell.” And just as he said it, Cassian’s eyes went wide.

Elain took a moment to catch on, she knew about the Illyrians and their Solstice tradition – the memory surfaced from some rusty part of her mind. They hadn’t broken it since Rhysand had returned after Feyre had freed him from Amarantha, except this year and it was because of her. Elain tried her hardest not to seem downcast.

“How about we tell Rhys to do it tomorrow?” Cassian asked.

“We can’t take a million days off, Cass. You remember you’ve made a commitment to train the Valkyries.”

“It’s a two hundred year old tradition, you brooding bastard. We can spare another day.”

Azriel seemed to consider it. “Ask Rhys. If he doesn’t have things to do, we go tomorrow.”

“You know there’s no way he’ll say no, he’s got the most to prove.” Cassian said smugly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Fine, go get your strategy straight then. Mother knows, you’ll need it,” Azriel said and the words were laced with genuine threat. It was that lethal side Elain supposed Azriel possessed, but that rarely ever came out in her presence. She couldn’t recall seeing it since the war if she were honest.

Whatever it was that shone in Azriel’s eyes, Cassian must have seen it too, because his own eyes sparked back with challenge. It made Elain glad to know she’d be in the safety of the cabin while the males went at it out in the snow.

“Can you please ask Rhys if Feyre is going too?” Elain called out to Cassian’s back as he sauntered out of the room.

“Sure thing,” was his reply from down the hallway.


	6. Chapter 6

Azriel spent the entirety of dinner trying to keep his eyes from turning to Elain at every lull of the conversation, or when Cassian talked, or when Nesta talked. When Elain talked, he could barely contain the silly grin that surely everyone on this table must have noticed, but that he couldn’t care hiding behind his usual unreadable mask of neutrality. All the while in his head he counted the minutes until they’d finally be alone in his room, in his bed. He knew he couldn’t have her in the way he’d spent countless hours thinking about, but Azriel had learned to bide his time. And this was yet another waiting game, one that he was determined to see to the very end.

Finally Cassian threw back the last of his wine and eyed his mate with meaning, enough of it that it made Elain blush in that pretty way that spread from the bridge of her nose to her cheeks. It still stained her face after their hosts – even if Azriel was a permanent guest of this house that’s how he saw them, bid them good night. They stayed another hour, talking about anything and everything, the snowball fight, his Illyrian training, the flowers she wanted to plant come spring. It was easy, natural, and time seemed to exist only outside of this bubble, this room.

When she slowly pushed her chair back and got up, he had to use all his self-control not to sweep her in his arms and take her to his room like that. Instead he gallantly led the way, to this floor of the house that Elain hadn’t often visited, seeing as her room had been in the floor below. He led her through the hallways and she walked in silence beside him until he stopped in front of his door.

He held it open for her and awkwardly stood in the threshold.

“I should let you change.”

It was funny Azriel thought, this pretence of modesty between them. But he slipped out of the room nonetheless, wanting to give her the privacy. It may have been as much for his sake as it was for hers, because could he manage to keep things chaste? The thought of her back bared to him even for a few moments, it was enough to send his blood pounding.

“Come in,” a whisper, the clipped tone giving away her nerves.

He pushed the door and his eyes were transfixed on her immediately. Gone was the simple nightgown she’d worn at Solstice night, this one was surely Nesta’s. Still long, exactly how Elain seemed to favor them, but it wasn’t a soft cotton, but delicate silk. Gone was the modest square neckline that had of course still managed to drive him mad with need; this slip she wore now, it followed the curves of her body, held by thin straps so it bared her shoulders, and on her breast it cut in a simple vee. It wasn’t scandalous, but it certainly wasn’t modest.

The way her nipples peaked, marring the smoothness of the fabric, it did things to him that weren’t modest at all. This wasn’t a girl’s nightgown, but a fully-grown female’s, one that knew she needn’t go beyond this and look to scandalous underthings to bring a male to his knees.

Azriel wondered if Cassian knew his mate was likely teaching her sister the art of seduction, likely passing on things she’d tried on him. This was a point deducted for poor chaperoning skills, not that he’d been much better. Thoughts of Cassian laughing at him and shaking his head cleared away as Elain reached for the clasp that held her hair half-up and away from her face.

He took two long strides and was in front of her, the stark contrast of the maiden clad in white against swift death in all black.

“Let me,” his voice nearly pleading.

She let her hand fall back to her side as he replaced her fingers in her hair. He gently pulled away the clasp and her curls fell down her bare shoulders. The simpler she were, the more breathtaking she became and Azriel couldn’t help himself but imagine what she’d look like when she was completely bare to him.

He’d chastized himself enough for taking her without properly worshipping her body first, like they were animals in search of quick release. But they’d been hungry and desperate and he knew that he needed to get a grip and have more self-control now.

He slipped his hand down to her neck and she leaned into the touch. He could smell it on her again, how ready she was for him. This was torture, sweet and slow torture, he’d know… torture had been his job for too many years now. But he’d welcome the pain, he decided, he’d relish it. He unclasped the necklace around her neck and pulled it away and her hand ghosted idly over the skin where the chain once had been.

He left it on his nightstand and realized with no small amount of shame that the powder she’d gotten him was still there. He huffed a laugh at the sight of their two presents side by side and wondered if she’d think him a sap, seeing that he’d kept her gift like this on his nightstand. But they were beyond hiding from each other now, beyond secrets.

He knew he hadn’t washed since the afternoon of Solstice, not since he’d been inside her… He wondered what the others smelled on him at breakfast, but even Cassian had held his tongue all day. A small mercy.

“I’ll go wash and change in the bathing room,” he said and didn’t fail to notice how her eyes darkened. He felt them burn on the back of his neck as he disappeared to the bathing room.

*

Elain sat on the bed in the simple room and looked around at all the details that made it Azriel’s. Reports left on the floor next to the nightstand – she could picture him peering over them, searching for details othes might miss, the shadows whispering in his ear.

She looked at the powder in the glass vial on his nightstand, full and untouched and wondered what possessed him to just keep it next to his bed and never use it. Hope bloomed in her chest that this went beyond anything she could ever imagine, but she forced herself to keep looking at details and not get caught up on what it was that Azriel felt for her. A dagger, perfectly polished and gleaming in the faint light was sat next to the bottle. The blade almost seemed to call to her – her hand was hovering over it when Azriel emerged from the bathing room, clad in his undershorts and a shirt that he was doing up.

She didn’t have to know a lot about him to know this wasn’t how the warrior usually slept. “Azriel, this is your room, your bed. Sleep how you like.”

He nodded with his usual easy grace, but the way he pinned her with his gaze as he slipped off the shirt and threw it in the nearest chair had her insides going molten. She hadn’t seen him like that before, the muscled chest and abs and broad shoulders in full display. She wanted to run her hands and tongue over them but she just looked up at his face again. In the light of day he was stunning, but during the night when the light and shadows played off his features, he became the stuff of sinful dreams.

Her heart nearly leapt off her chest as he approached, his eyes tentative as if nearing a scared cat. When he sat on the mattress beside her she felt herself blush again. It felt odd that she knew now how it felt when he moved inside her – she had the sweet soreness between her legs to prove it, yet them sitting beside each other in this state of undress felt infinitely more intimate. She could feel the heat radiate off his skin, if she reached out she could just touch him, but she wouldn’t dare move.

Sensing her hesitation, he seemed to darken, the shadows growing restless around him.

“We don’t have to… I could take the floor, and there’s always your room if you’d rather–”

“I want you to hold me,” she said, and it wasn’t meek or coy. She was a female who knew her effect on him.

A smile bloomed on his beautiful face and he quietly obeyed, taking his usual place on the mattress, resting his head high on the pillows and then he held out a hand for her. She crawled beside him and took his hand, he took it and gently tugged her so she fell forward, their faces mere inches from each other. He covered the distance and gave her a kiss, gentle and exploring and then just before sparks turned to flames that consumed them both he gave an end to it and tucked her head to his chest.

“Good night, Elain. Sweet dreams.”

 _Did he know how many times he’d been_ in _those dreams?_ Safe and content, Elain let go of every worry and every thought of death that hang over their happiness like a bad omen, and she just let herself sleep deeply, soundly with his strong arms wrapped tightly around her.


End file.
